


Affection

by Hectopascal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectopascal/pseuds/Hectopascal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam and porn. PWP. There is no plot. I do not even attempt to claim that there is a plot. It is porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affection

Sam was cute like cuddly bedtime animal cute, like ice-cream drop on your nose cute, maybe even perfect jiggly spoonful of lemon meringue pie cute. Dean nodded to himself; hands resting on the jeans slung low on his hips.

Yup, Sam was definitely the cheek pincher of the two of them, and Dean didn’t mind one bit no siree. He nodded again and let one hand brush against his straining erection through his jeans, and felt himself shudder with want. Dean’s head tilted as he let out a hard breath, hands itching to touch skin but he restrained himself for Sam’s sake.

Speaking of Sam…Dean raked his gaze over his younger brother and made a noise of complete appreciation. Mmm, yeah, Sam was cute as a button but like this – like this he was drop dead adorable. Sam groaned low in his throat. Dean forgave this lapse on part of his normally highly articulate brother given the strip of cloth wrapped tightly around the lower third of his face.

Sam was breathing heavily through his nose though the soft ropes that ran around his body only barely constricted his air supply. The rope led a trail around Sam’s collar, criss-crossed his back and torso and tied heavily around his wrists keeping his hands behind his back.

Every so often, Sam’s body would twitch where he lay face front on the bed, shifting back and forth in an attempt to get some friction against the sheets but the angle was all wrong. When these attempts failed, he would whine and shake; his eyes rolling to catch Dean’s, pleading loud and clear in their brown depths.

Of course, every time Dean would have to shake his head and smile just a little, in a gentle way because that was part of the game. Well, that and nothing quite gave him the particular raging hard on that he got watching those pleading eyes go shiny with barely restrained tears.

It probably had something to do with the time he and Sam were kids and it was still considered generally acceptable behavior for brothers to clean up each other’s bodily fluids. Sam had licked a bloody scrape on Dean’s arm clean, tearing up in sympathy while he did, so naturally Dean had to lick Sam’s reddening face clear of salty drops and the rest was, not to put too fine a point on it, history.

For sure, Dean was an asshole of the highest degree, getting off on tasting his baby brother tears but hey, it wasn’t like he’d ever tried to deny it nor was he the only one to enjoy it.

The evidence of Sam’s enjoyment was pressed against the mattress held down with the weight of his body and it only leaked more the longer Dean kept his hands to himself, the more Sam’s body betrayed him. His wants and desires.

He supposed it was a type of abandonment play, Dean mused, forcing his mind to the logistics of the thing, only sans the abandonment. Dean always stood or sat or lounged in full view of Sam, rarely speaking to him but occasionally running hand through his hair or pressing a gentle kiss against his brow.

But more importantly, back to the moment – Dean laid a hand that shook just a little on Sam’s back and felt the muscle underneath the heated skin bunch and tense. A fine tremor ran from Sam’s shoulders down to the tips of his toes. He tried to arch into the light touch and the rope pulled taunt around his windpipe. Sam gagged and forced his body to go limp but he still trembled with the need that built and built and neared, finally neared a crest.

“Sammy,” Dean spoke softly and ran a finger up the length of Sam’s spine, feeling the vertebrae, the drops of sweat that rolled along the defined valley, “do you want the gag off?”

There was a moment’s pause when neither of them seemed to breathe only the pound of two heartbeats and the rush of blood echoing in Dean’s ears and then – Sam nodded. Dean tugged at the knot behind Sam’s head until the cloth loosened and slipped away. Sam swallowed and groaned, “Dean.”

“Mmm?” Dean shrugged off his shirt, tossed it over his shoulder, and flicked the button of his jeans undone.

“Dean,” Sam said again, close to begging, “please.” Dean fingered the zipper, metallic clicks oddly loud and worked the denim blues off. His erection pulsed and he kicked his boxers into a corner of the room.

“Sammy,” he murmured and climbed onto the bed, brushing his hand over Sam’s lower ribs, feeling the flesh quiver under his touch and loving every second of it. Sam was shaped for fucking, all hard lines and sharp bones; in another, kinder, life he could have been a model or, Dean smirked, a highly successful porn star.

“’M not Sammy.”

“Course not,” Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam’s arm and pulled him up. He smiled at his brother, all teeth, and shifted his grip to either side of Sam’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Baby boy, so sweet, the way you look right now, God…”

Sam’s pupils were dilated and his pulse hammered against Dean’s palms. He licked his lips, the gesture involuntary but no less seductive, and Dean suddenly found his attention fixed on the wet shine of Sam’s lips and the sure knowledge of what they looked like red and swollen and thoroughly _taken_. He swallowed past a dry throat, Adams apple bobbing, and pressed his mouth to Sam’s ear so he could whisper low and soft.

“Do you want me?” he asked because he needed the minute reassurance more often than he’d like that it wasn’t just him, sick freak that he was, screwing his baby brother senseless because all the trim waists, rounded curves, and full hips in the whole goddamn world couldn’t drown out the tantalizing lure of the forbidden fruit, little Sammy’s taste and feel and scent, cheap motel soap, musty books, and gun grease.

Dean shifted to rest his forehead to against Sam’s and inhaled. Sam exhaled at the same time and for a moment they breathed as one entity, lightheaded with not enough oxygen to split between them.

“Want it,” Sam tried to squirm closer, “always Dean.”

Dean made a soft, pleased sound and kissed him. It was meant to be gentle but then Sam opened his mouth to Dean’s probing tongue and he lost any semblance of control. He had his tongue in Sam’s mouth and tasted the blueberry pie they’d shared for dessert just hours ago. It was more arousing than berries had any right to be.

He had a split second, incredibly vivid fantasy involving Sam, whipped cream, and those same berries. Dean shook his head to dispel the image. Later, he could indulge his fondness for food and Sam in delicious unity later.

Sam bit at Dean’s lip and he gave a warning growl and pinched Sam’s arm, making him yelp. Dean laughed as Sam cursed and pushed him back down onto the bed, holding his face in Dean’s lap. Same gave his dick a considering look and raised an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Dean rubbed a hand over Sam’s ear, brushing his hair into some semblance of order, “it’s your ass.”

“You don’t have any lube?” Sam scowled at him.

“Oh no, I do,” Dean grinned at Sammy, promising mischief and pleasure in equal amounts, “but I wanna blow job first. Chop, chop bitch.”

“Jerk. I’m not a bitch.”

“Not a bitch,” Dean allowed, “ _my_ bitch.”  

Sam turned his head so his breath blew a hot stream across Dean Jr. “Is that so?”

Dean shivered and grunted, “Oh, yeah.”

“Never shut up, do you?” Sam snorted mildly.

“If anyone’s the screamer here it’s you honey,” which was a lie and they both knew it, they played their cards far too close to their chest to be compromised by being too vocal. Sam smiled tightly and craned his neck at what had to be an uncomfortable angle; he licked a warm line down the inside of Dean’s thigh drawing out a groan.

“What was that?” Sam huffed out a laugh.

“Aw, shut up,” Dean fisted Sam’s hair and used it to guide his head into a more suggestive position. “I can think of something a lot more fun to do with your mouth.”

“Original.”

Sam pressed his lips against Dean’s upper thigh in a gentle kiss, high enough to wreck havoc on sensitive nerve endings but low enough that Dean had to growl and tug on Sam’s hair in a silent, insistent command to get on with things.

Sam complied. In a practiced movement that had _deeply_ surprised his older and slightly jealous brother the first time he’d performed it, the college boy raised his head and closed his mouth around Dean’s length, moving the velvety flesh with careful, controlled swallows and skimming gently with his teeth.

Dean clenched his jaw to prevent any unfortunate noises from escaping and proving Sam’s point and relaxed his grip on Sam’s hair, giving him more freedom of movement to go deeper and oh, that right there, that was very good.

He had to remember to track down the motherfucker who’d shown his baby brother how to do that – not that he wasn’t grateful but in his weaker moments, usually when Sam was wearing clothes, the thought instilled a certain level of homicidal rage – ah, but now was the time when it was nigh impossible to think, to feel anything but an overwhelming sense of _wantwantwant_.

Yeah, the whole delayed gratification thing definitely had some pros. He was close, so close, sitting right on the knife edge of the cliff that would send him over and down into star bursts and mindless pleasure. Sam sucked him deep, humming while he did it and god, Dean thrust forward blindly and he was gone.

Dean blinked down as his vision cleared in time to see Sam lick him clean and swallow with a mildly disgusted look on his face. A thin stream of something pearly white trailed down Sam’s cheek; Dean whipped it away with one finger and rubbed it off against the sheets despite the disapproving look Sam shot him.

“Gross Dean, people have to clean that and no one wants to wash semen out of fabric.”

“You didn’t seem to mind half an hour ago.” Watching Sam go red at the memory was adorable and hilarious, sort of in an ‘aw look the kid could still get all embarrassed’ way, and was enough to give Dean a semi. He looked down at it, shrugged because what can you do, and reached for an unlabeled bottle on the nightstand.

Sam was ready to go but he would probably settle for a handy-shandy because that was just typical of him but still, no real way to repay awesome bjs when a thorough fucking had been promised. Dean flicked the lid open with his thumb and squeezed a dime sized pool of oily liquid onto his palm.

He spread it absentmindedly on his fingers, a majority of his interest fixed squarely on Sam who was shifting again on the bed, flushed and looking acutely uncomfortable. Dean blew out a breath and trailed the lubed fingers across the small of Sam’s back. Sam froze, just from that bare touch and his breaths grew harsher.

Oh yeah, this thing was most definitely happening. Dean’s fingers traced the curve of Sam’s ass, down to his entrance where he paused, a single finger rubbing a light circle around the puckered flesh. Around and around until Sam was quivering and he gasped, “Dean!”

“That’s my name.” Around and around and around, exciting and stimulating but never quite penetrating that one sacred area.

Sam snarled a sulfurous curse and Dean grinned. “Now, please.”

“What’s the magic word?” Around and around, it had to be maddening to his darling little brother who was normally such an awful tease. Sam suggested doing something so vile involving his car that it gave even the jaded Winchester pause.

“How exactly would you -?”

“Damn it, Dean!”

“What’s the magic word?” he repeated with a lilt that dragged word into two separate syllables. Sam tried to move back against Dean and was thwarted. Dean pushed just the smallest bit of one finger in and waited like he was prepared to do this all night long, like he wasn’t on the verge of going wild and burying himself in his baby brother who he knew would be tight and hot and soft and willing – willing to take everything he was given – and like it.

Sam whimpered something into the mattress.

“What was that?” Dean drew his finger out and pushed it back in, just the smallest portion so Sam would know it was there but not enough to satisfy him, not even close.

Sam said it louder, face pressed firmly into the sheets.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.”

Sam turned, one intense eye blazing up at Dean and sobbed, “Yours.” Sam drew a shaking breath in as a tear slipped down his face, “Yours, Jesus, yours. Yoursyoursyours–”

Dean shoved two fingers in as far as they would go, widening Sam. It was fast and it was sloppy but it did terrible things to him when he saw Sam actually cry with frustration. He grabbed the bottle and squeezed, throwing the thing away from them and not caring if it made a mess. He smoothed the lube quickly over his length and then he was on his knees, hands gripping Sam’s hips and forcing his way in as Sam bit down on the sheets to smother a scream.

See Sammy, half of Dean’s mind thought morbidly, you are a screamer, though he knew that if Sam was then he’d let it go too far and he’d have to be more careful not to do it again. Sam was tight and hot and soft like he normal but his walls were clenching desperately around Dean, drawing him deeper.

The obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the room and Dean found himself murmuring a steady worshipful chant against Sam’s shoulder blades about how good and beautiful Sam was and how Dean loved him so much, more than anything, more than life.

Dean reached around Sam’s bound arms and their entwined bodies and stroked Sam loosely in one fist in time with the creaks of the bed and the motion of his hips. Sam cried out and began to come still held in Dean’s hand and Dean followed him, grinding and thrusting his way to completion for the second time.

He dropped; exhausted, but avoided collapsing on top of Sam who would loudly protest f his arms fell asleep. Speaking of which – Dean tugged at the knot with limp, fumbling fingers. It loosened and Sam began to squirm free of his restraints.

Dean left him to it and rolled over, wondering if Sam would later be inclined to share a cleanup shower and if his hands just happened to wander while it was happening, well, could you blame him? Sam was so damned pretty wet…and dry and naked…almost always actually, even when they took a plunge in swamp murk after a pair of kelpies Dean totally would have fucked him, though he might have saved the hanky panky until _after_ they’d had a long, hot shower.

“Stop doing that,” Sam pushed the rope off the edge off the bed and curled into Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Doin’ what?” Dean wrapped an arm around Sam and thought about the effort involved to get a blanket or something so Sam wouldn’t catch a chill. Eh, it would be more fun to warm him up with his body anyways. Dean felt his lips stretch in a salacious grin.

“That,” Sam put an arm across Dean’s chest and their bodies, as usual, fit together like two halves of a whole. “You’re thinking about screwing me in the shower.”

“Course I wasn’t,” Dean denied easily, “What, two rounds wasn’t enough for you college boy? I’m beginning to worry about those repressed hormones of yours.” They were not cuddling because they were men and men did not snuggle, not even when Sam went all soft and pliant and sweet and – ah, the hell with it. They were cuddling and Dean liked it.

“Jerk,” Sam poked him in the side but he was smiling.

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Dean directed a smoldering look at the top of Sam’s head then gave it up when Sam laughed and smacked the brat upside the head, “When do I not want shower sex with you?”

“I may take you up on that offer.”

“Yeah?” Dean waited for the answering rush to his groin and felt only a trickle, a small shadow of heat. Too soon, damn.

Sam tucked his head into Dean’s neck and he felt the smile pressed against his skin. “Maybe after you have a nap older brother.” Cheeky little shit, but sleep did seem highly attractive right now. Dean let his eyes close, his breathing even out, felt Sam warm and safe against his side and knew contentment.

He was just drifting off when Dean heard Sam yawn and sleepily say, “Dean?”

Dean grunted to let Sam know that he had his attention.

“I’m cold.”

Oh, of course because the universe wouldn’t let Dean have one fucking second of peace and Sam was his beloved little brother so now he had to get up and walk across the fucking room and get the fucking blanket. He sighed because he loved Sam, really he did, but sometimes he had to throttle the urge to smother him.

“Love you,” Sam hummed.

Then again, it wasn’t all _that_ bad.


End file.
